


In a Boy's Dream

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A boy's dream...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Boy's Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to Patricia Pleasant for betaing this piece.
> 
> For alexcat, with my deepest sympathy and esteem.
> 
> 'In a boy's dream' is a line from 'Crash Into Me' by Dave Matthews, which inspired this fic.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Foothills of the Ered Luin, 311 First Age**

I watch you, my king, riding towards the camp, closely followed by my son. You beam at me and jump from your steed while it is still in motion. My eyes can never soak enough of the elegance of your movements. You glance around and take your shirt over your head; you are hale, strong, beautiful as I have never seen, and yet so real I feel the need to touch you, to assure myself once more that you are more than a figment of my imagination.

I stay myself and rest under the shade of an oak, watching you laugh with Baran while you tend to your horses. I smile my secret smile, present so often these days that it threatens to denounce me.

You are not the fey creature that one night haunted me with a song. Your beauty is solid. I am still to meet one of the famed Valar and I probably never will, but I do not regret it. I doubt there could be anything more perfect than you. Eru would not allow it. I cannot fully define who or what you are but you are the world to me.

My breath catches in silent adoration as you turn your fair face up to the sun and squint, your hair brushing your lower back. You are still talking to my son as you rest your thumbs in the hem of your tight leggings. Please let them ride lower, I pray. I want to see the skin they hide, the valley where those two indentations on the sides of your abdomen lead. You notice my glances and let a thin stripe of white skin grace my eyes. My heart skips a few beats in gratitude and hunger.

Baran hands you his water skin. You take a sip and wipe your lips with the back of your wrist. Nothing I have not seen hundreds of men and women do but with you every little action becomes an epiphany.

You come near, I forget about my son, and we clasp each other's shoulders so strongly I can hear the bones screech. You pull me closer still and devastate my lips and my soul with your kisses. A mere boy's dream, but happiness contracts my insides just as tightly.

Instead, you leave my son and head for the stream. I follow discreetly some moments later and watch you wash in the cold waters. Your nudity suits you better than any silk; the finest suede is coarse next to your honeyed skin, but, what a blessing, you peel that bothersome layer with your usual nonchalance. Your hands roam to all the places that belong to me. You turn to me and smile that smile that promises things I hurt for, melding, merging, later this night or any other. I whisper, I mutter curses to myself, and, disturbed, I run from you. I cannot stay, I cannot possibly: I may irreversibly lose myself to you.

I, Balan, am your vassal, your Bëor as already some call me, but I want to be your master, when I can barely control my own desires. I reason with myself, but I hear only the voice repeating relentlessly that your heart will beat for me. It will, and I will relish in the clamp of your claws, baring my all to you. I smile in my boy's dream. Being this happy hurts the most exquisite pain one could feel.

Your presence turns me into a boy wading through his first crush. I am shy and bold, ridiculous as only those who truly live are; I am hopeless and gigantic, a star in my chest bursting with feeling. Funny how each time we fall always seems better and brighter than the last one, but I cannot fathom how could I have felt more than this, ever, not even as I look upon my children and remember their mother. I shy from calling this by its name but I recognise it, as eternal and ephemeral as Spring, as involving and scorching as Summer.

I smile in my way back to camp, the darkness on our heels forgotten. I would follow you to the end of the world, even if it lay to the East; I would follow you even to the Dark Lord's lair. But I would rather love you until I die, regardless of trivial things such as reciprocity and decorum. And I would have you love me.

Yes, I see it, us talking, laughing, riding together. We smile in understanding and mischief at some brazen double-entendre in public but we feel no shame. A few discreet touches here and there fire our blood and promise renewed joy. In private, you tie me with your words and your song and your arms and serve under you, gladly and willingly, until we cannot move anymore, only to find that there is still more to give.

I see it, in a boy's dream.

 

_Finis  
June 2005_


End file.
